


hostage of your eyes

by tiigi



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternative Universe - No Pennywise, Dark Richie, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Graphic descriptions of violence, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Stolkholm Syndrome, because of, non consensual drug use, this is mostly cracky but it’s also dark so, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiigi/pseuds/tiigi
Summary: The first thing Eddie hears on waking up in a strange place with no memory of the night before is a strange voice saying, “Okay, so, don’t freak out.”Already, things are not off to a good start.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 85
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure you’ve read the tags and fully understand what this fic involves. It’s going to be very cracky and unrealistic but the subject matter is really dark and I don’t want any angry comments because it’s all there in the tags lol.
> 
> ANYWAY, the new season of killing eve is out and I was rewatching Barry and this was born. Hope you enjoy! <3

The first thing Eddie hears on waking up in a strange place with no memory of the night before is a strange voice saying, “Okay, so, don’t freak out.”

Already, things are not off to a good start. 

It’s not that Eddie hasn’t gotten himself into his fair share of troublesome situations over the years, because with a mother like Sonia Kaspbrack he absolutely has, but he’s never blacked out before and he’s never woken up in a stranger’s bed. He’s  _ especially  _ never woken up with said stranger. If he was a little more coherent right now he might be celebrating his sudden foray into rebellion, but as it is he just feels like he’s going to throw up.

“The fuck?” His head throbs when he tries to sit up and he winces at the painfully bright light, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes. He’s definitely somewhere he’s never been before, but it doesn’t look like it’s infested with termites or riddled with bacteria so he doesn’t start the day with a panic attack. It actually looks quite nice: definitely not a dorm room, but not the frat house he’d been partying at either. This place is much more high class, with high ceilings and a twinkling glass chandelier hanging above the bed.

The bed which Eddie is still lying in, actually, and which he should probably get out of. He pushes himself up on his elbows and groans as his movement sends another sharp, painful complaint to his head. The longer he’s awake, the more clarity returns to him; this is  _ definitely  _ not somewhere he’s ever been before and certainly not somewhere he belongs. This is a rich-person-place. He’s lying in a queen size bed with a silk pillowcase. Over towards the side of the room there’s a vanity table bigger than Eddie’s shower room back in college, and his reflection in the mirror confirms his suspicions. His hair is messy, he has dark circles under his eyes and overall he looks like absolute shit.

Oh, and his ankle is chained to the bedpost.

In his sudden panic to free himself, Eddie forgets entirely about the other person he heard speak earlier. It’s not a matter of thinking he’s alone in the room so much as it’s a matter of being too flustered to think straight. Panic descends on Eddie like a crushing weight settling on his chest and he reaches for his pocket to take a puff on his inhaler only to discover that it’s not in his pocket, his pocket is nowhere to be seen, he’s wearing clothes he doesn’t fucking own.

“What the fuck?” Eddie is going to hyperventilate. He shuffles down the bed so that he can get his hands on the cuff around his ankle, but that only makes things worse because it becomes obvious he isn’t going to get it off any time soon. It’s padded so the sharp metal edge hasn’t dug into the skin of his ankle, which is oddly thoughtful of whoever  _ chained him up like a fucking dog,  _ but it’s secured too tight to wriggle out of. There’s a tiny lock near the spot where the chain meets the cuff, and even if Eddie did know how to pick a lock, he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t have anything to do it with. He’s well and truly fucked.

Memories from the night before start to come back to him, filtering through the fuzzy darkness of his mind. Going to that party with Bill and Mike, meeting someone at the bar, taking a drink from them…

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ He took a drink from a stranger and actually drank it like a fucking idiot, and the bastard must have drugged him and now here he is, chained to a bed without his inhaler about to die because of his stupid fucking asthma that doesn’t even exist.

“Dude, I said  _ don’t  _ freak out.” The disembodied voice comes again, and it comes as a shock because Eddie had entirely forgotten there was someone else in here with him. It’s horrifying, the sudden realisation that his freak out was being watched the entire time. His head jerks up and he scans the room for whoever has kidnapped him and watched him flail like a creep. He finds what he’s looking for in the shadow-shrouded figure of a man on the other side of the room. 

“Holy fuck,” Eddie whispers, pulse racing, blood rushing in his ears. It’s completely irrational that he wants to crawl under the covers and pull them up over his head, but he can’t shake the feeling of helplessness as the figure stands up and draws a little closer to the bed.

“Don’t worry,” the man says with a surprisingly charming smile and a confident tone. “You’re gonna be a-okay.”

Eddie hurls a pillow at him.

Where he’s standing, the light from between the slats on the window hit him just right and it’s no mystery to Eddie how he got into this mess in the first place. The guy is undeniably gorgeous, with brown curls and big glasses and a dusting of freckles across the elegant slope of his nose. If he wasn’t dressed like a fucking serial killer, looming over Eddie where he’s shackled to the bed, he’d be getting some right now.

As it is, things haven’t exactly worked out that way. Sucks for both of them. 

“Okay, that was unnecessary and hurtful.” The man frowns, hugging the pillow to his chest and perching on the edge of the bed. Eddie kicks at him with the foot he can actually move but his captor just catches his ankle and holds it still in one large hand. His thumb traces small circles into the bare skin of Eddie’s calf, because the clothes that this freak decided to put him in are ridiculous, grey sleepshorts that cut off mid thigh and a t-shirt so large it hangs off one shoulder. 

“Please stop panicking,” the man tries again, and he really does sound like he’s imploring Eddie, but sincerity is no excuse for kidnap so Eddie jerks his leg away and puts as much space between them as possible. “I promise I’m not gonna hurt you. I know how this looks but just let me explain?”

All Eddie can think to say is, “What the fuck?” So he says that a few more times and hurls a few more pillows but then he’s left gasping for air again with no more pillows to throw, and he has to let the guy explain.

“I’m not a creep,” is the first thing he says, so clearly he is a fucking liar. He must see Eddie’s dubious expression because he continues hurriedly defending his honour like he has any chance of redeeming himself now. “No, for real. This isn’t what you think! It’s Eddie, right?”

Eddie’s chest constricts, tight and painful, with the sudden fear that question brings to him. Then he remembers that he probably told this guy his name at the party last night and it doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s been being stalked for weeks or months or even years. It could be a totally innocent case of drunken flirting turned kidnapping, if such a thing exists. 

“Who are you?” Eddie should really be asking more important questions like, ‘where am I?’ or ‘what do you intend to do to me?’ or ‘I didn’t lose my iPhone, right?’ but as it is he’s too panicked to give a shit.

“I’m Richie,” Richie tells him, and that does spark a faint memory of Eddie saying that same name himself, so he figures the guy is telling the truth. It doesn’t let him relax any. “It’s nice to meet you. I mean, we met last night and all, but you were pretty wasted so you probably don’t remember.”

“You drugged me!” Eddie accuses in a high, shrill voice. Richie winces.

“Well, okay, maybe a little bit. But honestly, whatever you’re thinking, it wasn’t like that.”

“Really?” Eddie doesn’t remember ever having been this mad before, which is weird because he’s at a total disadvantage if Richie was to decide to attack him. He should probably not piss off his kidnapper, but Eddie has never had the most rational of thought processes. “Because it looks to me like you drugged me, took me back to your house, stripped me and chained me to your fucking bed. Please, tell me how it ‘isn’t what I think.’”

There’s a long pause where the silence stretches the distance between them, and Richie is clearly so lost for what to say that Eddie almost feels sorry for him. Almost. 

“I totally understand why you’re upset.” Is what he finally settles on, and holy shit, is this guy for real? “But let me just say, I didn’t strip you to be creepy or anything. You threw up on yourself last night and I had some spare clothes. I didn’t, like…  _ look.  _ I wouldn’t do that, Eddie, honest.”

“Wow, thank you. I’m really inclined to trust you right now, so that means a lot to me.” This may be one of the few situations where Eddie’s hurtful sarcasm is actually warranted. In all seriousness, he would really hate to wake up chained to a bed, covered in his own vomit to top it all off, but that doesn’t make the act of having his clothes changed for him any less violating. To Eddie’s horror, angry, humiliated tears start to blur his vision and he blinks them away, but Richie is sitting right there and he sees them, of course he does.

“Fuck, Eds, please don’t cry.” He sounds genuinely pained about it, which is maybe the worst part.

“Don’t call me that!” Eddie cries. Richie certainly hasn’t earned the right to give his nickname a nickname. Thankfully, Richie shows Eddie his palms in a gesture of surrender, and he hasn’t tried to touch him yet except to bat away Eddie’s fruitless attacks, so maybe it would be better to just sit here and hear him out and not make him angry.

“Okay, you’re right, sorry. Eddie, just let me explain, alright? Please?” He pushes his glasses back up his nose and blinks. 

“You better have a great fucking explanation.” The doubtful look on Richie’s face suggests that, whilst he may have an explanation, it probably isn’t a great one. Eddie wants to hear it regardless, and then he wants to get the hell out of this bed and slink away home to his dorm room before Bill or Mike notice he’s missing. 

“I don’t really know how to start this. I’ve never had to do it before,” Even when trying to sound contrite, Richie has been blessed with that ‘couldn’t-give-a-shit’ attitude that all the frat boys on campus seem to have. Eddie watches disdainfully as he reaches into the chest pocket of his Hawaiian shirt - and really?  _ Really?  _ \- to pull out a half empty box of cigarettes.

“Could you not?” Eddie gripes. “I have asthma.” Kind of. Whatever, kidnappers aren’t entitled to his life story. 

Richie pauses in surprise before he tucks the carton back into his pocket and nods, apologises easily like this whole situation can be waved away with a, “sure, sorry.”

“Why don’t you start with why you drugged my drink?” Eddie says it very slowly, very condescendingly, as though he were talking to a young child. Richie narrows his eyes at Eddie but the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile so it doesn’t seem like he’s ready to pounce.  


“Yowza,” Richie murmurs to himself absentmindedly, and before Eddie can question it, says, “Alright. Long story short, you have something of ours.”

Ours?

“There’s more of you?” Eddie groans. Richie snickers a little, and then shuts his mouth when he sees Eddie’s serious expression. 

“Only three others, promise. And Ben and Bev are like one person, so really only two others. Though if you wanted to be literal then yes, three.” So Richie rambles. Great.

“I cannot fucking believe this.” Eddie wishes he had something else to throw across the room, preferably right at Richie’s head. “What could I have that you possibly want? Why was your logical conclusion to  _ kidnap  _ me rather than to  _ talk  _ about it?”

Richie smiles then, a smile that is somehow fond and knowing all at once. It’s the first time since Richie opened his mouth that Eddie genuinely feels cowed by the man, and he shrinks back a little, flushed and confused and inconveniently attracted to his kidnapper. 

“That’s just sort of what we do.” Richie shrugs, and Eddie’s heart sinks. If he’s really been kidnapped by a serial killing cult then this Sunday is not looking to be a great day so far– not even the eye candy can make it worth it. “If someone has something of ours, we don’t ask for it back, Eddie. We take it. We help people, but we also have to protect ourselves. Though I guess you know all about that.”

Eddie wants to bang his head against the nearest wall. He’s so confused and hungover and whatever Richie put in his drink last night has left him with a skull piercing headache behind his eyes that won’t go away. He wishes he had a painkiller or three to pop right now, but Richie probably stole his fucking fanny pack as well, the bastard.

“What are you  _ talking  _ about?” Eddie cries, feeling increasingly hopeless and desperate by the minute. That itchy, panicky feeling inside his chest has come back and he wheezes. Richie rolls his eyes, and it’s as if talking about his friends or whatever has injected him with confidence. He seems like a totally different person to just ten seconds ago, when he was rambling and blinking nervously behind his glasses. Now he leans back on his palms and gives Eddie a once-over, gaze lingering on his bare thighs for long enough that Eddie starts to blush. Why do all the hot guys have to be straight or psychos?

“C’mon, Eds,” he says, and again with the Eds, really? “I already said I wasn’t gonna hurt you. You don’t have to play dumb.” 

Eddie may be dumb, but he’s certainly not playing. Richie must read the confusion on his face because he sighs exaggeratedly and rolls his eyes, pushing himself onto his hands and knees and crawling across the bed towards Eddie. Eddie is no longer so afraid now that Richie has opened his big dumb mouth, but he’s tense and trembling and if Richie lays his big hands on Eddie’s bare skin again then he might just die from overheating.

“I know that we never officially met, but I’d have thought you’d be familiar with the organisation you did business with. Who was it you spoke to again, Stanley? Beverly? I can’t remember.” Richie promised him a simple explanation, but now he’s spouting off nonsense that means nothing to Eddie and acting like he should have a clue.

“I straight up have no idea what you’re talking about.” Eddie tells him seriously. Richie’s eyes narrow and for a moment Eddie genuinely worries, genuinely thinks he might be in danger.

Then Richie flops belly down onto the bed and puts his chin in his hands and says, “Are you for real? Like, you’re not messing with me right now? You really don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Eddie resists the urge to knock himself out and just nods emphatically. 

“Your name  _ is  _ Eddie Corcoran, right?” Richie continues, sitting up, sounding more and more agitated by the second. Eddie recognises the name from his college but can’t put a face to it, can’t figure out the connection between Eddie Corcoran and himself, so he just shakes his head slowly and bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper. 

“What?” Richie looks horrified, eyes comically wide behind his glasses, face pale, hands wrung together in his lap. “What the fuck’s your name?”

And maybe it’s not a good idea to give his real name out to strangers, let alone people who kidnapped him over a mistaken identity, but if Eddie has any hope of this maniac letting him go then he should really play along.

“Kaspbrack.” He says, soft, scared. “My name is Eddie Kaspbrack.”

Richie leans back on the heels of his palm again, cheeks a ghastly grey colour. He swallows, hard and nervous, before letting out a shaky breath and nodding his head as though he has just come to some phenomenaly difficult conclusion. 

“Okay, alright.” He nods again, head bobbing back and forth like a puppet dancing on a string. “So, don’t freak out, but I may have made a teensy mistake.”

Eddie freaks out. 

***

There are voices coming from behind the shut door. Richie disappeared out there ten minutes ago and, unless he’s talking to himself, the other voices must be Richie’s friends. Ben and Bev, Eddie remembers, and another unnamed person. 

Their voices are too low for Eddie to make out any of what they’re saying, but he can tell by the irritated tone that it can’t be good. Richie hadn’t elaborated on what he meant by a ‘teensy mistake’, but he hadn’t needed to. Eddie’s not stupid, and he easily puts two and two together. Not only has Eddie been kidnapped- he’s been kidnapped in error.

Fantastic. This could only happen to him.

The click of the door opening again takes Eddie by surprise. He’s still chained to the bed and he has even less to defend himself with after he threw that pillow at Richie, but at least he’s more prepared this time. He’s conscious, for a start. 

Richie closes the door behind himself and, once again, Eddie is left alone with him. It doesn’t feel as daunting as it did before - even though that’s crazy, because at least Richie wanted him for a purpose last time. Now he’s just a liability. All the same, he doesn’t flinch when Richie takes a seat on the bed next to him.

“How much of that did you hear?” He asks, face impassable. Eddie can’t tell Richie’s mood to save his life.

“Like, none of it?” Eddie says, wishing he could say these things with confidence instead of the lilting uncertainty that turns it into a question. “Should I have?”

“Bev’s pretty pissed,” Richie tells him conspiratorially, like he’s sharing a secret with his best friend rather than whispering to the guy he kidnapped. He ignores Eddie’s question. “We’ve been planning this hit for a while, and I kind of messed it up.”

“Kind of,” Eddie nods, half hoping that Richie doesn’t see through his thinly veiled sarcasm to the fear that lies beneath, half hoping he does. Eddie doesn’t want to die because Richie can’t take a joke. 

Turns out, Richie can take a joke. He throws his head back and laughs, his throat bared, his teeth gleaming in the light from above. He looks insane, Eddie notes. He looks wild and unpredictable, and those two aspects have never gone well in Eddie’s life.

“I like you, Eds,” Richie says.

“Eddie,” Eddie reminds him.

“Sure,” it’s said patronisingly, like Richie is only humouring him. “I like you, Eddie. But here’s thing: I can’t let you go.”

Eddie’s stomach drops. He was wrong - he is a liability, and Richie is crazy and he should have been daunted as soon Richie stepped into the room. These people are going to kill him. He’s going to die here in this strange room with these strange people all because one guy got his Eddies mixed up. 

“What– what are you–” Eddie starts scrambling away, even though the headboard stops him from going any further back and there isn’t anywhere else to go with his ankle chained to the bedpost. His pulse races. Richie pushes himself up to his knees and then sits back on his heels, resting his hands flat on his thighs like he’s making a point of not having a weapon. Eddie doesn’t feel any calmer– Richie could probably kill him with his bare hands anyway.

“I’m really sorry,” Richie says, and bizarrely, Eddie believes him. “But like I said, this is a big hit. We’ve been planning this for a while now. We’re owed a lot of money, and you know about us now. We can’t risk you fucking this up for us, okay?”

“I wouldn’t!” Eddie is saying before Richie has even finished his sentence, shaking his head empathetically and trying to buy his own freedom. “No, I promise I wouldn’t! I won’t say anything. You can let me go– I don’t even know who you guys are, or where this is. I won’t say anything,  _ please,  _ you can let me go!”

Richie just smiles sadly, and Eddie knows the answer before the words have even left his mouth. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t risk it. You’d find Corcoran, or you’d call the police. Whatever it is, it could blow up in our faces and I can’t let that happen.”

“So…” Eddie swallows back the stinging lump in his throat.  _ Don’t let them see you cry,  _ he thinks.  _ They can kill you, but don’t let them see you cry.  _ “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Oh!” Richie seems surprised, as though he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Maybe Eddie should shut up– he could be jinxing things for himself. “Well, I guess you’ll have to stay here. I mean, we’ll be able to wrap this up by tomorrow evening at the latest. Then you can go home. Okay?”

_ He’s lying,  _ Eddie thinks.  _ They’re going to kill you. This is just to keep you quiet, so you don’t fight back. Don’t give them what they want.  _ But he’s nodding despite the thought. He’ll fight back later, but for now he just wants to cling onto the hope, for just a little bit longer. 

“Wonderful,” Richie claps his hands together. He shuffles a little closer to Eddie on the bed and Eddie stays still, has to or he’ll fall right off the edge and the bracelet around his ankle will mean that his legs - at least one of them - will be strewn across the bed still. He’d rather have all his wits about him with Richie so close.

“I understand that this is all really messed up,” Richie continues. Eddie wants to yell at him, but bites his tongue. “But I promise, you’ll be fine. Bev and Ben will be nice to you, even if they’re annoyed. Stan will probably ignore you, but that’s only because he’s awkward and he doesn’t know what to say.  _ I’ll  _ be nice to you. Haven’t I been nice to you so far?”

Richie’s smile reminds Eddie of a wild animal standing over its prey, bloodied teeth and lips. The thing is, Richie  _ has  _ been nice to him so far, as far as kidnappings go. Eddie forces a smile in return and, as weak as it is, it makes Richie brighten up. 

“Yeah,” Eddie licks his lips and draws his knees to his chest protectively. “You have.”

“You’re so cute,” Richie grins. Despite everything, Eddie finds himself blushing. It’s not fair, because Richie is crazy and probably murderous, but he’s not used to being complimented so openly and…

And however much he hates to admit it, even to himself, Richie  _ is  _ attractive. He’d thought it earlier and he thinks it now. Richie is fucking beautiful, and if they’d met in any other circumstances Eddie would probably be throwing himself at the guy.

“Richie?” Eddie asks tentatively. He’s not sure where he stands, but maybe Richie’s fledgling attraction to him will gain Eddie some leeway. “Can I ask you a question?” 

He doesn’t want to ask. Well, he does and he doesn’t. He wants to know because if Eddie has to spend the next day - possibly the last day of his life - and die at the hands of these people, he at least wants to know why it all happened in the first place. He doesn’t want to know because he’s sure he won’t like the answer.

“Sure thing, Eds.” Richie leans across and pats Eddie’s knee. Richie’s hand on his bare skin has him shivering, but he manages not to jerk away if only to keep Richie appeased. 

“Why does Eddie Corcoran owe you money?”

Richie hesitates a moment before he answers. Eddie sees the reluctance, the uncertainty, flicker in Richie’s eyes before he speaks. He knows this isn’t going to be good.

“Eddie Corcoran reached out to us,” Richie tells him slowly. “He hired us, to kill his father. Real asshole, killed a kid, long story. He definitely deserved it. But then we do the job and we go back to Eddie and he dodges us. Tries to avoid paying. Well, we’re not okay with that, y’know? It’s not fair. He hired us, we kept our end of the bargain, he should keep his. That’s why we need to find him, and we can’t risk you ruining that for us.”

Eddie is locked up with a group of professional hitmen. An actual assassin just called him cute and patted his knee. They killed people before they got here, and if Eddie doesn’t figure something out soon, they’re probably going to kill him as well.

He really needs to stop going to frat parties. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a little bit darker so again, heed the tags and please don’t yell at me lol
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Eddie isn’t sure what he’s expecting. This has been far from a typical kidnapping so far and Eddie knows he shouldn’t expect anything else to be normal, but for whatever reason, it’s still a surprise when Richie pulls a laptop out of his bag and opens Netflix.

“What do you fancy?” He asks, throwing an arm over Eddie’s shoulders. He’d fall off the bed if he moves any further to the left, so Eddie stays where he is and endures the weight of Richie’s arm. It isn’t so bad. If Eddie was any less paranoid, maybe it would even be comforting.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, even though it’s fairly obvious. The disbelief must be clear in his tone because Richie laughs again; Eddie feels it rumbling through Richie’s chest where their bodies are touching. 

“I’m not just gonna leave you tied to a bed for hours. I don’t want you getting bored. I’m not a  _ monster.”  _ Eddie narrows his eyes in suspicion, but in all fairness that is actually a nice gesture. Richie has proven to be a nonconventional abductor in all aspects and Eddie doesn’t know whether he should be grateful or concerned.

And then another thought occurs to him. If Eddie can get Richie out of the room - or at least incapacitated for long enough - then maybe Eddie can use this laptop to send for help. If Richie is connecting to the internet then that means Eddie should be able to log into his email account, send a cry for help to Bill or Mike or literally anyone that might be able to call the police for him. 

But, Eddie thinks as Richie’s hand plays with a curl of his hair and tickles at the nape of his neck, what would he even say?  _ Help, I’m being held captive by a bunch of assassins. They tied me to the bed, washed my clothes and forced me to watch Netflix. I don’t know who they are or where I am, but please, you have to help me!  _ Yeah, that wouldn’t get him far, and if Richie ever found out then who knows what could happen. Eddie has been lucky until now - as lucky as he can be, having been drugged and kidnapped - but he doesn’t want to push his luck. 

Eddie watches as Richie unlocks his desktop. There are a few suspiciously unnamed files but other than that, it seems mostly to be filled with shortcuts to computer games or film downloads. Eddie should have expected that, really.

Unbidden, an idea springs to mind. Eddie tries to control his breathing with Richie so close to him, but the possibility of freedom has him fidgeting, eager to get it over with one way or another. His pulse is racing and his heart pounds in his chest; he’d much rather settle back and watch Netflix, but he can’t just sit back and allow himself to be held captive. He can’t just stay here and do nothing like a  _ coward. _

A quick sweep around the room tells him that there’s nothing he could use as a weapon. He could try punching Richie but Richie could easily beat him in a fight, and besides, Eddie doesn’t want to punch him. He’d feel bad, as ridiculous as that sounds. He’d much rather just get the room to himself for long enough to send an email and delete the search history.

“Um, Richie?” Eddie says, nervous. Richie turns his head just slightly, and it’s enough to have his chin bumping against Eddie’s forehead. The forced intimacy shocks Eddie, and he’s left silent and a little breathless until he can get his thoughts back on track. It’s not  _ fair  _ that Richie is as attractive as he is. If he’s going to go around kidnapping and  _ killing  _ people for money, he should at least be less than a solid ten out of ten.

“What’s up?” Richie says, voice soft and cruelly kind. 

“Can I… I mean– um, can I get changed?”

“What?” Richie frowns, giving Eddie a very obvious once over. “Why?”

“I’m cold.” It’s a long shot. “Can I have my clothes back?”

“Aw, Eds,” instead of getting up and going in search of some new clothes like Eddie had hoped he would, Richie just cuddles closer and squeezes Eddie to his side. “You shoulda said something. Get under the covers. I’ll keep you warm.”

It’s such a frat boy thing to say that Eddie has to laugh. It bursts out of him before he can suppress it, and Richie beams, like he’s really accomplished something. Eddie doesn’t think anyone has ever seemed so pleased with themselves for making him laugh. Is his life really so empty that he’s getting a confidence boost from a psychopath? Brilliant. 

“Um,” Undeterred, Eddie tries again. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

Richie frowns and his shoulders droop, but he doesn’t seem angry or annoyed. If anything he just seems upset, like this is going to be a lot of effort and he can’t be bothered. Eddie doesn’t get that. He clearly put in a lot of effort to get Eddie here in the first place– the least Richie could do is let him take a piss. 

“Now? Can’t it wait?” Richie asks hopefully.

“Not unless you want me to piss myself,” Eddie says. If he can just get out of this room, maybe he can make a break for it. If they’re in a house as fancy as this, it probably means there are other people nearby. Maybe he can scream for help before Richie murders him.

“Fine,” Richie rolls his eyes and crosses the room. Out of the bag from which he retrieved the laptop, he takes out a key ring with a bunch of small, silver keys. They jingle against each other and Eddie’s mouth practically fucking waters with the need to reach over and snatch them out of Richie’s hand. They’re right  _ there.  _ Maybe he could wrap the chain connected to his ankle cuff around Richie’s neck and strangle him until he gives Eddie the keys himself. 

Or maybe he would try and fail and be overpowered because Richie is so much bigger and clearly so much stronger than Eddie. He’d get himself killed trying, and wouldn’t that be an inconvenience. 

“You’re so high maintenance,” Richie complains. His fingers wrap tight around Eddie’s ankle suddenly, his thumb brushing the fine hairs on Eddie’s leg. His fingers are surprisingly cold where they make contact and Eddie flinches, even though he’s trying not to. 

“Relax,” Richie doesn’t stop what he’s doing but he does glance up at Eddie, smirking like he’s pleased with how uncomfortable he’s making Eddie. He’s too pretty for his own good; Richie’s hair is so long and thick, it would be easy to grab a handful of it and yank, to surprise him like that. That’s the only reason Eddie is paying attention to it, of course.  


”You’re cold,” Eddie says defensively. He pulls his leg back as soon as it’s free. Even though the cuff hadn’t been nearly tight enough to hurt, it feels like his leg is burning where the metal touched him. He massages the band of skin lightly, stopping only when the colour returns to normal. 

“Alright then Eds,” Richie claps his hands again, and reaches out. Eddie doesn’t react outwardly, but his heart sinks when Richie wraps a hand around his upper arm and guides him firmly towards the door. It’s unlocked, but Eddie supposes that isn’t worth anything if he couldn’t even get out of bed.

Richie’s fingers dig in tight enough to bruise. Eddie lets himself be lead through the door and down a long corridor, Richie so close behind him that occasionally he’ll step on Eddie’s heels. It’s still no easier to tell where they are: it’s a house rather than an apartment or a hotel, clearly, because to his right there’s a long, curving flight of stairs that must lead down to the ground level. The corridor is just as fancy as the bedroom was, with beautiful wallpaper and small, glittering chandeliers hanging at various points from the ceiling. There are several doors on both sides of the hallway but they’re all closed and they all look identical. Eddie is willing to bet that if he did make a break for it, they’d all be locked.

Eventually, Richie seems to identify one door in particular, indistinguishable from the rest, and he turns the handle. 

“I’m gonna wait out here.” Richie says fingers unfurling one by one until Eddie is completely free. Except… he’s not. Not really. Richie continues. “Obviously, I want to believe that you’ll be a good boy and all, follow the rules, etcetera. But, just so you know, if you try to pull anything on me, you won’t like what happens, alright? I wouldn’t  _ want  _ to, not at all, but maybe just think about the worst thing we could do to you compared to the worst thing you could do to me. Okay! Off you go.” He accompanies the threat - because that’s what it was: unmistakably a threat - with a maniacal grin. Eddie gulps, swallowing back the sting of tears. He knew Nice Richie was too good to be true. The guy is legitimately crazy and here’s the proof, standing behind him ushering him into a bathroom and telling him that if he tries to escape, he’ll be killed.

Is someone like that really going to let him go? Is staying still and being a  _ good boy  _ really worth it if he’s going to die anyway?

Eddie steps inside and slams the door behind himself. Being away from Richie gives him the opportunity he needs to clear his head and think properly; there’s something about Richie that’s just so distracting. Maybe it’s his charm, his charisma, his ability to almost make you forget you’re being held hostage. Now that Eddie is safely hidden in another room, he can splash his face with water and just breathe. He needs to be smart. He needs to think of a plan, and quickly. 

There’s no lock on the bathroom door, he notices that right away. Well, there is, but it’s a key lock and as far as Eddie knows, Richie is the only one with keys around here. Eddie thinks he might be okay, as long as he doesn’t spend too much time in here and as long as Richie doesn’t have any voyeuristic tendencies. If the guy turned around and said with a straight face that piss turns him on, Eddie would be inclined to believe him.

So he hurries. He uses the toilet because he doesn’t know when he might get the opportunity next, and then washes his hands thoroughly. Who knows how many germs he picked up between last night and now? He wishes he could take a shower as well, scrub every inch of himself clean, but Richie seems too impatient to let that happen. He settles for sticking his arms under the tap and towelling them dry harshly.

Five minutes pass before he emerges again. He does so slowly, guiltily, like he’s done something wrong by even thinking about escaping. He’s expecting to see Richie’s impatient expression, eager to get back to watching Netflix or whatever he wanted to do, hurrying Eddie along with one hand around his bicep and the other on the small of his back. Eddie is, as ashamed as he is to admit it, even looking forward to the casually intimate touch. As soon as he opens the door, however, that is not what he’s greeted with at all.

Either Eddie has been in there for a lot longer than he thought, or Richie switched places with someone whilst he was in there, because instead of seeing Richie’s terrifyingly handsome grin, he instead sees a woman. She’s a little taller than Eddie, with bright auburn hair and narrowed eyes. Eddie has never seen her before - he would definitely remember.

“Oh,” he says dumbly, even as his mind is rushing a mile a minute. This woman, whilst still taller than Eddie, seems a lot less physically intimidating than Richie. Maybe Eddie could shove past her if he’s smart enough about it. She’ll almost certainly be faster than him, but if he has the element of surprise on his side…

“Don’t  _ oh  _ me.” The woman snaps, folding her arms. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t even try it.”

Okay, so maybe the element of surprise is gone. Still, that doesn’t mean Eddie should abandon all hope. Instead, he nods slowly, taking his time to get used to his surroundings. If he goes forward he’ll reach the stairs, beyond that will be the bedroom he was chained up in. If he goes backwards he could run into a conveniently open window or potentially another member of this strange, murderous group. Alternatively, he could just dive back into the bathroom and stay there for as long as possible. There’s really no good outcome here. 

“Where’s Richie?” He asks.

“He had to go and deal with something quickly. He told me to–” Eddie doesn’t even wait for her to finish speaking. He takes the opportunity to catch her off guard and bursts forward, shoving her out the way as hard as he can. Unfortunately, that’s not particularly hard. He can hear her gaining on him even as he’s running at top speed, his lungs straining. The stair bannister comes into view little by little with each step he takes and he’s so close, he’s  _ so close  _ he could just reach out and  _ touch it– _

A door opens quickly to his right. Richie catches him around the middle and Eddie’s speed propels them both around in a half circle, so that Eddie slams face first into the wall and Richie’s front is pressed flush against Eddie’s back. He struggles, but it’s no use; Richie’s hold is far too tight for Eddie to break free from and the more he tries, the harder Richie presses against him. Richie uses one hand to squeeze Eddie’s wrists together and the other he places on the back of Eddie’s head, pushing his face into the wall until it hurts.

“Eds,” Richie is panting, fist clenching rhythmically around Eddie’s wrists. “Sweetheart, I really wish you hadn’t done that.

***

Richie is annoyed. Eddie has only known him a few hours - a few more that he can’t remember, but he was asleep for most of those so they don’t count - but he can already tell this is not a regular occurrence. Eddie can even picture him killing people: holding a gun to their heads, kneeling over someone with a knife, whatever method he prefers. He’d be smiling even then, Eddie thinks, even as they were dying in front of him. He’d still be smiling like that.

But now he’s annoyed, and Eddie can’t figure out why. He  _ knows,  _ rationally, that it’s because he tried to escape, but he just doesn’t understand that. Richie seems like a normal person when you ignore the fact that he’s a murderer, albeit a little awkward and psychotic. Surely he’d understand why Eddie would try to escape? He can’t be so delusional to think that Eddie wants to  _ stay. _

Eddie can speculate and theorise all he wants, but it doesn’t change the fact that, after frogmarching him back into the bedroom and cuffing not only his ankle to the bedpost but also his wrists, Richie left Eddie to lie there alone and hasn’t been back since. 

Eddie has no idea how long he’s been here for. It could be half an hour, it could be half a day. He tries to sleep just to pass the time but he’s too keyed up, too nervous that he won’t get to wake up. If they change their mind about killing him, this will be the last thing he’ll ever see: this beautiful fucking chandelier. At least he can die knowing he tried to escape. He fought back.

He thinks that and he settles in, ready for whatever they throw at him, but no matter how hard he thinks this particular thought he just can’t escape the boredom. It’s  _ awful,  _ like a parasite eating away at his mind until he’s practically crying. His shoulders have started to ache viciously from being yanked behind him for so long and he’s hungry and scared and  _ bored.  _ It probably takes a lot longer to start drawing faces on coconuts and talking to them, Eddie thinks, but he still feels pretty fucking fragile.

When the door opens, Eddie almost screams. His ankle is shackled to the bedpost and his arms are held over his head, secured by tight metal cuffs. He’s completely defenceless and he’s pissed off his kidnappers: he’s doomed. Except, when Richie pokes his head around the door he doesn’t look angry anymore. He doesn’t even look remotely upset. If anything, he seems apologetic.

“Hey, Eds,” he says, creeping inside and kicking the door shut behind him. “How are you feeling?”

Right now, all Eddie is feeling is hunger and some pretty intense desperation to get out of these handcuffs. Richie is carrying a tray with a microwave dinner on it, along with a glass of water, and Eddie’s mouth waters at the sight of it.

“Please,” he says, voice cracking halfway through. His throat is scratchy and it hurts to speak, but that’s probably because he’s been crying so much. He couldn’t help it.

“Hey, shush,” Richie says soothingly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He places the tray on his lap and uses his free hand to stroke Eddie’s hair away from his forehead. “I overreacted. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or been so harsh with these.” He rubs absentmindedly at Eddie’s wrists where the cuffs pinch his skin. A few hours ago, Eddie might have been surprised by this turn of events. Now, he just feels drained and exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers, fingers splaying to try and get some blood flow going. “I’m sorry. I won’t try to run away again– please just untie me. Sorry, just please.” Richie frowns, and the most fucked up part is that he really  _ does  _ look sorry. His lips pull down at the corners and his eyebrows furrow and Eddie wants to smooth away the wrinkle with his thumb. Maybe he’s losing his mind after all. At least he’s in the right company.

“Of course,” Richie stands and crosses the room, heading towards his bag. Eddie waits with growing anticipation, half expecting him to pull out a gun and finish the job once and for all, but he only retrieves the keychain again. As he’s heading back towards the bed, there’s a sudden and persistent beeping noise that Eddie belatedly realises is coming from Richie’s bag.

_ It’s my watch,  _ he thinks,  _ and it’s coming from Richie’s bag. He kept my watch. What else of mine has he stolen? _

“Oh, whoops,” Richie picks Eddie’s watch out of his bag and fiddles cluelessly with the buttons for a few moments. “Shit, how do you get this thing to shut up?”

“You have to–” Eddie stops, clears his throat, tries again. “You have to press the top two buttons at the same time. It’s an alarm.”

“An alarm for what?” Richie asks, dropping it back into his back when it’s finally silenced.

_ An alarm for my medicine. It’s time to take my medicine. _

“Nothing,” Eddie shakes his head, desperate to get out of the cuffs. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter. Please, can you–”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Richie returns to the bed and this time he isn’t just content to sit on the edge. He swings his leg over and balances on his knees so that he’s straddling Eddie’s waist, their faces just inches apart as Richie fiddles with the handcuffs around Eddie’s wrists. Eddie holds his breath but he can’t tear his eyes away from Richie’s; he can feel his whole body heating up and suddenly it’s too much, too intense, and his breath releases with a full body shudder. 

The cuffs pop free and Eddie cries out, his shoulders screaming with pain. Richie uses both hands to massage Eddie’s wrists, rubbing out the indents left on his skin.

“Careful,” he says softly. “Go slowly. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

Why the fuck is he being so  _ nice?  _ It’s not fair for him to be yelling and tying Eddie up one second, taking care of him the next. Eddie is so confused, and so, so  _ scared. _

“Thanks,” Eddie whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek. Richie notices it and coos, brushing it away with the pad of his thumb before sucking it into his mouth. His eyes close briefly and, Eddie thinks, he looks like he’s enjoying it far too much.

“Don’t cry, honey,” he sits back on his heels and helps Eddie bring his arms back to his sides, wincing like he feels the hurt Eddie feels. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Eddie asks. He can see the perfect outline of Richie’s dick through his dumb fucking skinny jeans and it’s approximately five centimetres away from Eddie’s crotch and that is  _ such  _ an inappropriate thing to be thinking about right now but Eddie can’t seem to stop. It’s like his body has been put in overdrive: hypersensitive and shivering even though he isn’t cold. He doesn’t want to be left on his own again. He wants this Richie, nice Richie, to stay, and how fucked up is that?

“No,” Richie says vehemently. “No, absolutely not. I told you you’d be fine, remember, and you will be. I just need to make sure you stay here until we’re all finished. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you, Eds, I’m sorry. That’s all on me. You’re okay now.”

Eddie isn’t so sure he is - not with the way he’s feeling right now. A silent sob works it’s way up through his chest and his body shudders with tears. With his newly freed hands, Eddie clutches at Richie’s wrist, and then his forearm and his bicep before finally gripping onto Richie’s shoulder to haul himself into an upright position. 

“You alright?” Richie asks. One of his hands settles on the curve of Eddie’s waist whilst the other rests on the small of his back, like he’s supporting Eddie, making sure he doesn’t fall back.

“Yeah,” Eddie says in a small voice, not meeting Richie’s eyes. He shuffles closer, even though it strains the muscle in his calf when he can’t bend his leg, and tucks his forehead under Richie’s chin. Richie inhales sharply, surprised, but doesn’t push him away.

“Is this…” Richie trails off. His hair brushes against Eddie’s forehead as he looks from left to right, as though someone might jump out with a camera and tell him he’s been pranked. “Eddie, what is this? What are you doing?”

“Don’t leave me alone again,” Eddie begs, pulling away just enough to meet Richie’s probing gaze with teary eyes.

Richie doesn’t move when Eddie leans closer, and when their lips touch he stays completely still for maybe half a second. Then he surges forward, one hand leaving Eddie’s back to grip onto the hair at the back of his head. It’s frighteningly similar to the way Richie held him down out there in the hall, but once Richie starts licking into his mouth, Eddie loses the ability to think whole thoughts. Richie may dress like a nerd and act like an unpredictable psycho, but he fucking  _ dominates _ when he kisses. Eddie knows he’s getting hard and he knows Richie can feel it and he should be ashamed of himself - he  _ is  _ ashamed of himself - but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Maybe that’s the worst part.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark fic is dark! Sorry!

Eddie’s ankle is still chained to the bed when he puts his hands on Richie’s cock. He’s laid out on his back with Richie straddling his hips, Richie’s hands in his hair, Richie’s lips on his neck. Richie is all he can see, all he can smell, and Eddie is quickly overwhelmed; it’s difficult to catch his breath when he’s so hard he might cry.

“Just like that,” Richie breathes, and Eddie feels it hot and damp in the crook of his neck. “So fucking good.”

He’s done this before a few times– granted, never in the context of a kidnapping gone awry, but enough to have a general idea of what to do. He works his fist over Richie’s cock and even though it’s a cramped, awkward position, it has Richie gasping overtop him. Eddie wants to get himself off as well but Richie’s hips are pressed down tight over his cock and he can barely move to touch himself. 

“Eds, baby,” Richie pants, licking over Eddie’s mouth. “Knew you’d be good at this, ever since I saw you. Looked like such a pretty fucking whore. Wanted you even then.”

Eddie wants to scream. Richie wants him now, wanted him then– did he mess up on purpose? Did he take the wrong Eddie because he wanted this exact thing to happen, or was it really all just a mistake? Either way - he tastes Richie’s spit on his lips - it’s going to change his life forever. How can he ever just go back to normal after this - Richie groans, low in his throat - when he’s letting this happen, when he even _initiated_ it? When Richie comes over Eddie’s fingers, he lets the first tear fall, even though he’s still hard and he wanted this and he still wants it now. Eddie wants Richie to touch him and he thinks he might throw up if he does.

“Hey,” Richie murmurs, brushing Eddie’s tear away with a tender smile. “You alright there? You’re not gonna cry anymore, right?”

Eddie clenches his jaw and shakes his head. Richie kneels up again, tucks himself back into his pants - doesn’t offer Eddie anything to wipe his hand on so he just keeps it in his lap - and shifts a little so that he can get at the waistband of Eddie’s shorts. Eddie shivers as Richie lays a hand flat over the tent in his boxers, grinds his heel down over it. Eddie’s hips jump and he bites his bottom lip, trying desperately to keep himself quiet. Richie frowns.

“C’mon, honey,” he says, stroking Eddie through his underwear. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? I know you can.”

That, embarrassingly, is all it takes. Eddie throws his head back and comes with a desperate, drawn out moan. He feels gross and dirty, sullied, like he’s let Richie reduce him to something he doesn’t want to be. All of a sudden, everything that was sexy ten seconds ago becomes nauseating; before, Richie invading all of his senses was arousing. Now it’s just suffocating.

Thankfully, Richie doesn’t stay on top of him for long. As soon as Eddie goes slack underneath him he climbs off the bed and straightens his clothes. It isn’t fair, Eddie thinks, that Richie gets to look so put together after he's so thoroughly taken Eddie apart. Eddie can barely _think,_ let alone get up and act like nothing even happened.

Which is why it sucks when Richie turns to him with a shit eating grin and says, “Come on, then, get up. We’ve gotta get going.”

Eddie props himself up on his elbows and frowns. “What,” he says. “Are you talking about? Where are we going?” Eddie’s ankle is still very much chained to the bed, so unless Richie plans on letting him free it doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere anytime soon.

“We’ve got an appointment!” Richie exclaims, which makes no sense to Eddie but seems to hold a great significance for Richie. “I didn’t mean get so… held up here, but what can I say? You’re too distracting for your own good, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Don’t…” Eddie pauses a moment, reconsiders his priorities and tries again. “What do you mean ‘an appointment’? An appointment with who?” 

“With _whom,_ darling.” If Eddie weren’t chained to the bed, who would totally be punching Richie in the face right now. “An appointment with you! Well, kind of. The Eddie that you were supposed to be, before all the confusion.” He hands flutter in the air before he realises he’s doing it and curls his fingers into fists, holding them by his sides like trapped birds. “With any luck we can get all of this sorted out so you can be on your way.”

“Are you serious?” Eddie sits up so quickly that he forgets he just came in his underwear. He winces at the stickiness but tries to push it to the back of his mind. Escaping is far more important than gross, come stained boxers. “You’re gonna let me go?”

“Of course we’re gonna let you go, Eds. I told you I would, didn't I? And I’m not a liar!”

“You did drug me to get me here.” Eddie points out. Richie shrugs.

“The point is,” he says. “We need to get ready. We’re supposed to be meeting him in an hour, so you’re gonna have to wear some of my spare clothes. Yours are still drying.” This is not ideal, but if it means Richie is going to let him go, Eddie isn’t going to complain.

He falls back onto the bed as Richie moves around. A few moments later, Richie’s hand is sliding over Eddie’s calf and down to his ankle, holding it like it's something delicate. There is a tinny, metallic clicking sound, and then the cuff around Eddie’s ankle opens with a pop. He draws his leg towards him and sits up, back pressed against the headboard; tears spring unbidden to his eyes. Nobody ever realises what they would do just to get their freedom back, Eddie thinks, until they have to do it. His skin feels cold to the touch and he wants to burn the clothes he’s wearing. 

“Alright,” Richie turns back to his rucksack and tosses a pair of sweatpants at Eddie’s head. A sweater follows in the same way and then finally a pair of underwear– Richie’s definitely. They slide down low on his hips when he puts them on, unashamed at this point to get changed in front of Richie. “You hurry up and get dressed, and then we can go. Your shoes are downstairs but I couldn’t find any socks, so… sorry about that.”

As a rule, Eddie doesn’t wear shoes without socks. This one time, however, he thinks he can make an exception. 

“And then what happens?” He asks with trepidation. Does he really want to know the answer?

“Oh,” Richie sits on the edge of bed and watches him pull the sweater on over his head. It’s far too baggy on him and it hangs loosely around his collar, revealing one shoulder like he’s in the middle of some strange, seductive strip tease. He yanks it back into place with his cheeks flushed warm and embarrassed.

“Well,” Richie continues. “Eddie’s going to meet us a few miles from here. There’s an abandoned warehouse– they’re always good for shit like this. We told him to bring the money, so hopefully it’ll just be a simple transaction. Then we’ll be on our way.”

“Why am I coming, then?” Eddie asks. 

“We can’t leave you here,” Richie says. “We never come back to the place we’ve been staying after our deal is done. It’s too risky. Corcoran could call the cops, y’know? And we’d have no idea. If we leave you tied up then who knows when someone will come along and rescue you, huh?” Eddie is drawn closer as though by a magnetic pull. When he’s finally close enough, Richie stands up and chucks Eddie’s chin with his knuckles. “Hey, listen, you have nothing to worry about. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, okay? I’ll keep you safe, Eddie baby.”

Eddie can’t think of anything to say to that. Richie could still be lying - pretending that they're going to let him go in order to get him to behave and go with them willingly - but for whatever reason, Eddie doesn’t think so. He doesn’t trust Richie, but he believes him, and for now that will have to be good enough. 

“You all ready to go, then?” Richie asks.

“One more thing,” Eddie says. Richie tilts his head curiously. “Can I have my watch?”

Richie snorts. “Later, darling,” he says, and Eddie doesn’t know what that means. 

***

The abandoned warehouse is, as abandoned warehouses tend to be, really fucking creepy. They’ve only just stepped through the door and Eddie is already kind of wishing he was still tied to the bed instead of here. The spiderwebs hanging from the walls are so ancient that they almost seem like permanent fixtures of the building. The floor is dusty with sand and Eddie can feel it getting inside his shoes already. Richie stands at his side. Beverly stands at the other - and that had been an awkward reintroduction - flanked by two other people that Eddie has never seen before. The gang's all here, it seems, and Eddie has never been more scared. 

“Is this definitely the right place?” Eddie leans in close to Richie to whisper it, but they’re all so close together that everybody hears. Beverly snorts, and the other two ignore him.

“Yeah, babe,” Richie throws an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this under control.”

Eddie isn’t sure Richie has anything under control, but the others look pretty well out together so he’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. They’ve obviously arrived before Eddie Corcoran and he wonders if Richie has considered the possibility that he just won’t show up. What happens to Eddie if he doesn’t come? Will Richie still let him go or will they just decide that he’s too much of a risk to leave behind to walk free? God, he hopes not.

“Um,” Eddie nudges Richie’s side with his elbow. “Any chance I could leave a bit early? I just feel like I’m not contributing much.”

“What?” Richie genuinely looks surprised, like he thought Eddie would want to stay. “No way! You can’t leave now, Eds. You’ve got to be my little cheerleader!”

“What he _means,”_ Beverly pushes Richie backwards and leans into Eddie’s space. “Is that you’re not going anywhere until this deal is finished. One way or another.”

“One way or another?” Eddie blinks, chest constructing painfully. “What do you mean? Richie– what does that mean?”

Richie avoids Eddie’s gaze - which obviously means Eddie just needs to keep repeating himself, getting louder each time. He’s about to do just that when there’s a scuffling sound from the other end of the warehouse and a man steps out in front of them. Eddie doesn’t recognise him, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this is Eddie Corcoran, the person that Richie is here to meet, the reason that Eddie was kidnapped in the first place.

Okay, that’s not fair. Eddie was kidnapped because Richie is a psycho who thinks it’s okay to go around drugging people’s drinks and tying them to beds. Still, he can’t help but feel a little resentful towards the other Eddie, who has been walking around free and unbothered by this bunch of assassins for the past twenty four hours whilst Eddie - a complete stranger to all of it - has been chained up like an animal and made to feel disgusting for his attraction to his own kidnappers.

“Oh,” Richie straightens up, turning his attention on Corcoran. Eddie doesn’t know whether he should be relieved or jealous. “Hi there, buddy.”

“What’s going on?” Corcoran asks, voice brittle and nervous. He shuffles his feet on the spot. “Why did you ask me here?”

“You owe–” The man at the end of the line steps forward and Beverly stops him with an arm stretched out. He falls back into place and Richie, after a moment’s pause, steps forward. Eddie almost stumbles; he hadn’t realised he’d been balancing himself against Richie’s side.

“Eddie, it’s nice to see you again.” He looks over his shoulder to smile apologetically at Eddie One. “Sorry, Eds baby.” He says. “This might get confusing.”

“I think I’m gonna have a panic attack.” Eddie replies. Everybody ignores him. 

It’s the truth, though. Eddie has a complicated relationship with his medication and even though he only takes pills he absolutely needs now, he still has a somewhat emotional attachment to his inhaler. The fact that he hasn’t used it in over a day - doesn’t even have it on hand if he wanted to use it - has him on edge. He can feel the anxiety creeping up his throat and his breath comes quick and shallow. He just needs to _breathe._

“I’m not gonna pay you,” Corcoran says, and it’s a painful reminder that everything is still going wrong all around him. “You guys fucked up. You didn’t do what I asked you to.”

“What are you talking about?” Eddie has only known Richie for a day, but even he can hear the bone chilling anger under the thin veil of friendliness. “We killed him, just like you asked us to. Now you need to pay us, buddy.”

“I said make it look like suicide!” Corcoran exclaims, but he sounds defensive and Eddie already knows he’s lost. “You guys caved his skull in. The police are calling it a murder investigation, and you know who their first fuckin’ suspect is? Me!”

Richie glances over his shoulder at Beverly. She shakes her head quickly, imperceptibly, just once. Eddie’s heart sinks. When Richie turns back to Corcoran, his hand is hovering over the suspiciously gun shaped object hidden in the pocket of his hoodie. How is Eddie only just noticing that?

“You wanted him dead,” Richie says slowly. “And we killed him. I’m gonna need you to pay up for me, okay? And then we can all go home. Nobody needs to get hurt.” 

Eddie knows it’s going to happen a second before it does. Corcoran’s eyes dart from Richie to Beverly to the others. He must think, Eddie realises, that Eddie is a part of them. It feels important that he corrects Corcoran– that, if he’s going to die today, he doesn’t think Eddie is a part of it.

And he is going to die today. Corcoran takes one last desperate look at Richie before he turns and runs. It’s the worst decision he could have made and Eddie doesn’t even have time to contemplate what a fucking idiot this guy is before Richie straightens his arm and takes a shot. It echoes through the warehouse like an explosion and Eddie falls to his knees, gasping like all the breath has been knocked out of him. Corcoran isn’t dead and Richie isn’t stopping– he takes three confident strides towards Corcoran where he’s lying face down on the floor, blood pooling around him from the bullet wound in his back. Eddie can close his eyes but he can’t shut out the low, agonised moaning coming from Corcoran’s sprawled body. 

“Oh my god,” Eddie breathes. He has to force himself to look up, to watch what’s happening. Richie is kneeling beside Corcoran’s body; with one hand on his gun still and one hand bunched up in Corcoran’s collar, Richie turns him over. He groans, pained, and pushes uselessly at the floor to get away. 

“I did give you a choice,” Richie says cheerfully, perfectly calm, perfectly friendly. “You chose this, buddy. Sad to see you go, but what can you do, right?” He pauses, like he’s expecting a laugh, and when he doesn’t get one he shrugs. Corcoran hits out but it only catches Richie’s jaw. Richie’s hands close around Corcoran’s throat and Corcoran’s hands scrabble weakly at Richie’s face but it doesn’t do anything except smear blood over both of them. There’s blood all over Richie’s face and bubbling up at Corcoran’s lips and Eddie can’t hear anything anymore except a constant, high pitched scream that must be coming from inside his own head.

“Richie–” he tries, reaching out, but his voice comes out a garbled whisper.

When it all comes to an end, Eddie doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not. Richie lifts Corcoran up by his neck and slams his head down into the concrete floor, until Eddie hears the sickening crunch of bone. Richie falls back on his heels, exhales loudly and wipes his forearm across his forehead. He leaves behind a trail of sticky blood. Eddie vomits onto the floor. This, at least, seems to draw Richie’s attention.

“Oh, hey, Eds honey. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong is that Eddie is hyperventilating because he just saw Richie beat a guy to death and he doesn’t even have his inhaler to calm himself down. An hour ago, Eddie was in bed with that man. He made Richie come. How could he have done that?

“Oh, sweetheart,” Richie hurries to Eddie’s side and pulls Eddie’s back flush against his chest. Richie’s arms close tight around Eddie’s waist. “Don’t cry. Don’t be upset. I promised I’d take care of everything, didn't I? Didn’t I say you’d be fine?”

The blood on Richie’s face rubs against Eddie’s skin. He still can’t pull in a breath. Richie wipes Eddie’s tears away but it’s no use because Eddie _still can’t breathe._

“Fuck, Stan, get my bag!” Eddie can hear them speaking but he can’t make sense of what’s being said. There’s a rustling noise and then something sharp stings his neck. He looks around lethargically in time to see Richie tucking a syringe back into his bag. He has no idea what the fuck Richie just injected him with and that’s a terrifying thought.

“Hey,” Richie whispers, moving to cup Eddie’s face between his hands. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re gonna be fine, okay? Fuck, I wanted more time to say goodbye. I really am so sorry, Eddie. Trust me– just trust me. And hey, if you ever need to sort out a problem then you know who to call.”

The edges of Eddie’s vision are darkening. Richie’s face swims in and out of focus - sometimes he’s not there at all, sometimes there are two of him. Eddie goes cross eyed when Richie leans down to kiss him on the mouth, ever so tenderly, and pulls away with a sigh.

The last thing he remembers Richie saying is, “Goodbye, Eds.” Then everything goes black.

***

Eddie wakes, for the second time in as many days, with no clue where he is. Thankfully, he isn’t chained to the bed this time, and it only takes a few minutes of drunk disorientation to figure out he’s in his own room. He has no idea how he got home or what happened after he passed out, but he’s here.

No– he didn’t pass out. Richie drugged him, _again._

Except, now he’s thinking about it, everything seems like a fucking dream. Did he really get kidnapped? Things like that don’t happen to people like Eddie. He’s not covered in blood or dirt, he’s wearing his own comfortable pyjamas and the only thing he has to show for his adventure is a piercing headache - which he could easily have gotten from drinking way too much.

Richie said he’d let Eddie go free, but he hadn’t really been expecting it to happen. He can’t really believe, after everything that happened, if it actually happened, that he’s at home again, safe and sound.

Eddie throws his legs over the side of the bed and stumbles to his feet. His knees feel a little bruised but that’s no proof at all. There’s no angry red mark around his ankle but then his cuff was padded on the inside. 

Fuck, Eddie needs a shower and then he needs to figure out what the fuck happened. He turns to his nightstand where he always keeps a spare bottle of water and, just as he’s leaning down to get it, something catches his eye. 

His watch, laid out neatly on the table beside his bed. When Eddie picks it up to get a better look, he sees that a drop of blood is smudged onto the face, grooves like a fingerprint staining the glass.

Eddie puts it back down in place with shaking hands.

First, he’s going to take a shower.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought or find me on tumblr @tiigixox! <3


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